


Tactical Error

by laurashapiro



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: F/M, Holiday
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 1999-12-23
Updated: 1999-12-23
Packaged: 2017-10-02 02:18:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 472
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1594
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/laurashapiro/pseuds/laurashapiro
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>That would be telling.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tactical Error

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to Hal for telling my critic to shut the fuck up.

Her knee was grinding heavily against his spine. Riley smelled antiseptic, whatever piney-medicinal stuff they used on the dull concrete floor. It was making him lightheaded, or maybe that was just the agony in his arm as it was wrenched firmly behind his back and held, just this side of dislocating his shoulder.

He'd made a tactical error. That was obvious. He'd let his guard down for that one fatal instant, the one the guys never spoke of but tacitly knew could come at any time. One mistake, that was all it took.

"Who the *hell* do you think you are?" she snarled, and he almost blacked out as she nudged his shoulder. Focus, Finn. Stay conscious.

He never should have gone in alone. That was his first mistake, and even through the haze of pain it tasted bitter. Wasn't he always telling the troops, never go in alone, always patrol in groups or at least pairs.

Hoist on my own petard, he thought grimly. Or was it hoisted? The knee dug in as she shifted her weight and he thought he might throw up.

"Please..." Like that would do any good.

Clawed fingers in his hair yanked his head back, and the room shifted crazily until he saw her, face set in a monstrous grimace, showing glinting teeth, moistened lips. He was done for.

"So now you beg me for your life? Is that the best you can do?"

"I...I --"

She snorted in derision and bent over him, nose to nose. Took him in almost lovingly for a moment, feeding on his fear, no doubt. He was wretched. Way to go, Teutonic Boy.

And then her tongue grazed his lips, perversely tickling a bit, and then forcing his mouth open. She thrust hotly in, stroking rough and slick and a little sweet. Thorough. Caressing everywhere, inside him. Pain and shame and desire mingled, hardened him wedgelike against the floor as she slowly eased the pressure against his arm. His shoulder tingled and then screamed as the blood returned, spreading its starburst rush through his whole body. Especially his cock. And his flaming face.

Abruptly she broke the kiss and her weight was gone. He glimpsed her trim pump a few inches from his face. He rose to a crouch on his good, if shaky, arm, turned away to hide his erection and his blush.

"We'll overlook this one incident, Finn. No one need know what you tried to do. But don't let me *ever* catch you with unauthorized substances in the lab again."

He couldn't look at her. His eyes rested on the offending bunch of mistletoe still hanging over the doorway from its scraggly red ribbon.

"Yes, ma'am. No ma'am. Thank you, ma'am."

"Report as usual for patrol at seven hundred hours." And Professor Walsh left the room.

 

END


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